


soon you'll grow so take a chance

by ratherembarrassing, socallmedaisy



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 14:12:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratherembarrassing/pseuds/ratherembarrassing, https://archiveofourown.org/users/socallmedaisy/pseuds/socallmedaisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the 12 christmases of annabelle fabray-pierce</p>
            </blockquote>





	soon you'll grow so take a chance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lovecanbesostrange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovecanbesostrange/gifts).



> we wrote this for quittmas on tumblr. it's late, but we hope you enjoy it anyway.

.

"Quinn, hurry up," Brittany calls. "The baby's ready for her name."

She can hear Quinn sigh from the bathroom, but she's not arguing about this anymore. The baby gets to pick her own name. It's only fair, it's the only Christmas present they can give her this year.

She flips open the book, a gift from Judy that they've had for seven months now but haven't looked at for a number of reasons. "I'm starting without you."

"Don't you dare," Quinn says as she exits the bathroom. She flips off the light, pulls the door closed, and crawls up the bed to settle across what remains of Brittany's lap.

Quinn' so determined to do everything _right_ , this time—as if she did anything _wrong_ before—but what could be more right than letting someone control something like their own _name_?

"Aadi," Brittany begins, refusing to let Quinn take the book from her. "Aaliya. Abana."

"You're serious about this?" Quinn sighs again, and climbs off Brittany to lie down beside her. "This is ridiculous. What if she doesn't kick for any of the names? Do we have to find a book with another—" she tilts the book so she can see the cover, "—fifty thousand baby names?"

"Yep," Brittany nods. "Acelyn."

She keeps reading, even as she shifts around to find a comfortable spot until Quinn pulls the pillow from behind her and straightens it out, slipping it back into place. It eases the ache in her back and she pauses in her reading to moan just a tiny bit in relief.

"Did the baby kick?" Quinn asks. Brittany shakes her head. "What if she kicks when you're saying something else?"

"Then it doesn't count, because it's not part of the whole thing. She's not silly, Quinn."

Brittany knows Quinn doesn't think this is a good way to find the baby's name, but now she's just being chartreuse.

"Aeryn. Afia. Afrodille." She pauses, because that name is awesome, and she wants to give the baby a chance to think about it. Nothing happens, and when Quinn nudges her—"I know what you're doing,"—she continues.

By the time she gets to Alice, she thinks they might have to do this in stages.

Quinn's dozing next to her, still on top of the covers and her glasses on her face, and Brittany touches her leg.

"Wha—" Quinn jolts up, reaching for Brittany even as she's forcibly blinking her eyes open. "Is it the baby? Are you okay?"

Brittany knew that would happen, and she rubs her hand over Quinn's leg. "Shhhh, everything's fine. Except in my mouth, where it's like I ate sand. Could you get me some water please?"

Quinn goes, once she's let her heart stop racing and Brittany's kissed her in thanks.

"Anjolie—What? Is that Angelina Jolie's ship name with herself? Don't pick that, baby—Anke, Ankti, Anne--"

"Here you go." Quinn hands Brittany the glass, waits for her to start drinking—Brittany eyes Quinn as she brings the glass to her mouth, Quinn's totally waiting for her to start—and then, "I'm going to sleep if you're just going to bogart the book and not let me even read the meanings."

"Fine," Brittany says, only a little pout on her face. "Anne. Anna. Annabelle. A-oof!"

Quinn twists around from where she's setting her glasses on the nightstand. "What?"

"Annabelle," Brittany repeats, and there's another kick. Her hand curves around the spot, and she says it again. There's a thud against her palm, and the smile that takes over her face actually hurts. "It worked."

"Come on, it did not." Quinn slips her hand under Brittany's.

"Annabelle," Brittany says, and there's another kick.

"She probably just woke up." Quinn frowns, wriggling to get comfortable against Brittany's side. "Don't say it again, she'll kick anyway."

"No she won't," Brittany says, because she won't. Annabelle's chosen her name.

"You're not even going to keep reading? But you're only at A!"

"No need," Brittany says, leaning back against the pillows. She's done, and Quinn's touching her, but not in the way she really wants now.

Quinn pulls the book towards her, flipping the pages to _Annabelle_ with one hand, her other still pressed against Brittany's stomach. "We're not just stopping."

"I didn't stop, Annabelle did."

Quinn's shifts again, until she's basically wrapped around Brittany's stomach, pressed all up against her, and she pushes her hand through Quinn's hair, scratching at her scalp. Her wife's literally draped all over her and being ignored like this is not okay. She scratches down a little, along Quinn's hairline, right where she knows—

"Britt, I'm trying to read."

Brittany doesn't stop her fingers' path along Quinn's skin. "I'm not stopping you."

"I'm trying to read about _babies_."

"You know where babies come from, Quinn."

"Yes, but our now-awake daughter doesn't need to know."

"Annabelle already knows where she came from." Brittany trails her finger down Quinn's neck, back up again, this time with the scrape of her nails.

"No she doesn't," Quinn says, eyes fluttering.

"Well if you're that concerned," Brittany says, and pulls her hand away.

"No!" Quinn says, and Brittany can see her jaw clench. In fact, she’s pretty sure she sees Quinn take a breath and let it go shakily, and she hides her own smile by pressing a kiss to Quinn’s head. “No, it feels—” Quinn swallows. “Good.”

She knows it does, that was kind of the point.

 

0\. BRITTANY

Their parents have never put up a huge fuss if they didn't come back for Christma before, but it was made very clear that if they didn't bring Annabelle for Christmas there was going to be lumps of coal in their stockings.

(Not that Brittany would mind that; she's trying something new with her time machine.)

Besides, there's someone Annabelle has to meet.

So the point is: Driving to Lima with a ten month old. It's going better than even Brittany thought it would.

"This is the longest she's slept since she was born," Quinn whispers from the passenger seat.

"Told you," Brittany says, watching out of the corner of her eye as Quinn leans over the seat to check Annabelle's still sleeping.

"But she usually screams her head off in the seat, how could you have known this?"

Quinn had wanted to fly; in and out, as quickly as possible.

Brittany shrugs. "She told me. Oh hey, can we stop here?" She says, pulling off the highway before Quinn can even ask why.

...

A woman in the costume aisle glares as Brittany dances Annabelle around until she stops the sad little whimpering sound she makes sometimes. She’s not even blocking the aisle, but the woman tuts as she reaches past Brittany for a Disney princess outfit.

"Let's find you a hat, too, Ding Dong," she says, wandering in the direction of where she has a feeling there might be a Santa hat for Annabelle to match the one Brittany's found for herself.

She glances back at Quinn as she goes, only to see her glaring at the woman. She wants to go back and tug Quinn along after her but Quinn can look after herself. And she’s only going to the end of the aisle, Quinn will catch up with her eventually.

She finds a tiny Santa hat for Annabelle and pushes it onto her head gently, making sure the end is out of her eyes. Annabelle squints up at her like she’s not sure if it’s her color, going a little bit cross-eyed when she tries to see.

“It suits you,” Brittany tells her, because it does.

Annabelle babbles something—yes, thank you, she does have good taste—and Brittany rocks her until the noise turns into a laugh, almost stopping when she hears it. 

She sees movement out of the corner of her eye, and when she turns Quinn is stumbling out of the aisle, her mouth hanging open in surprise.

“Quick, take a picture. She might never laugh again.”

Quinn chuckles, but she does what she says, her phone coming up to point at them before the flash goes off.

It’s halfway back into Quinn’s pocket before she says “I probably should have taken a video,” and Brittany laughs as she tugs the hat she picked up for Quinn onto her head, even as Quinn makes a face.

…

“Send it to Sam, and tell him we’ll see him soon,” Brittany says once they’re all back in the car. "And your mom, too."

Quinn tries to take the Santa hat off her head once she’s finished texting, but Brittany looks at her when they’re waiting in the line of cars trying to get off the parking lot until she leaves it on.

…

Every corner they turn brings them closer to Quinn's childhood home, and she can practically feel the tension rolling off of Quinn. She's about to pull over to the side of the road before Quinn’s lungs overheat, but then Annabelle starts screaming in the back and it's enough to distract her into breathing normally again.

She's still not sure why they're staying with Judy, except that she offered and Quinn accepted.

They pull into the driveway, and before Brittany's even turned off the engine Judy's come out onto the front porch, rubbing her hands together against the cold.

As she climbs out of the car, Judy makes her way over, coming around to where Quinn’s unbuckling Annabelle from her car seat.

"Quinnie!" she says, and even Brittany twitches at the name as she climbs out of the car.

"Hi mom," Quinn says. Brittany really doesn't like that voice at all, and she hurries around to where Quinn's lifting Annabelle from the car, Judy hovering beside her, hand on Quinn's shoulder.

“There’s my granddaughter!” Judy says, a smile on her face as she reaches to take her from Quinn. Quinn looks like she’s only just managing not to roll her eyes, but Brittany's proud of her when all she does is reach out and pull Annabelle's hat further over her ears.

"Sorry we're late," she says, tucking her hands under her arms.

"That's just fine," Judy says, her voice doing that annoying thing some people do when they're talking to babies. "You're here now, aren't you, Annabelle."

Brittany wouldn't be surprised if Annabelle's about to roll her own eyes for the first time.

"I'm so glad you're here." Judy bounces Annabelle up and down, smoothing her hand over Annabelle's head. "And I like your hat, sweetie."

Brittany sees Quinn reach up and fiddle with the end of her own hat out of the corner of her eye, and she tangles her fingers with Quinn's free hand where Judy can’t see. 

“Let’s get you inside so you can warm up,” Judy adds, heading for the house, and Quinn just grabs a bag wordlessly and heads towards the house.

Brittany grabs the other bag and chases after her wife as she stomps up the path, snagging the bag from her as they reach the porch. "Hey."

"What," Quinn snaps, before visibly deflating. "Sorry."

Judy's already inside, and Brittany leans in to press a quick kiss against Quinn's cold lips. "I love you," she says, and tugs on the end of Quinn's hat. "That's what."

"Yeah," Quinn says, leaning her forehead against Brittany's shoulder for a moment. "Okay," she breathes out a sigh, "let's go."

…

“I don’t think you’re supposed to wrap yourself,” Brittany says, trying to hide her giggle at Quinn’s expression as she battles with the paper and tape. There’s scraps of it all over Quinn’s mom’s guest bed, two presents wrapped and one not even close, and Quinn looks like she’s about ready to give up.

“How the fudge are you supposed to wrap things that aren’t in square boxes?” Quinn demands, using the back of her hand to push some hair out of her eyes. “And it’s nearly 2am and Annabelle will be awake soon. My mother won’t take well to yawning at the dinner table.”

“We have a built in excuse.” Brittany takes the tape and scissors from her and puts Quinn’s hand on the paper, holding it in place so she can add the tape. “I bet even you got up early on Christmas morning.”

Quinn looks away. “We weren’t allowed to. We went to church, and then we opened presents after lunch.”

She stops moving, a piece of tape between her fingers, and leans until she’s in front of Quinn, trying to get her to look at her.  Quinn never told her that before.

"You know," Brittany begins, changing tactics and focusing on the tape, "part of being a parent, I think, is working out what made you unhappy as a kid, and doing the exact opposite to your own kids."

Quinn just nods, still staring at the wall.

"So, Annabelle will probably be awake like, five seconds after we get to sleep." She shifts the now-wrapped box that's in front of them out of the way, crawling around to sit in its place. "Were you planning on putting her back to bed?"

"No," Quinn says, and Brittany can hear the lump in her throat.

"And are you going to let your mom put her back to bed?" Quinn shakes her head. "So I think," Brittany says, taking Quinn's hand, "that Annabelle's going to wake up, five seconds after we go to sleep, and we're going to get up, and we're going to eat pancakes, and open presents, and if we're sleepy at the table, then that's just what happens."

Quinn’s silent for a moment, and then she leans closer, until her forehead is bumping against Brittany’s shoulder. “I love you,” she mumbles, and Brittany brings her hand up to tangle in her hair.

She wants to say duh, but she knows that’s not what Quinn needs right now, so she just slides her hand down to Quinn’s jaw and lifts her head up gently. “I love you too,” she says, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of her mouth, “and Annabelle’s going to love her badly wrapped present.”

"No she won't," Quinn chuckles and pushes Brittany backwards. “You've got tape in your hair."

Brittany blinks up at her, sprawled out on her back. "You've had tape in yours for an hour now. I thought we were doing a thing."

Quinn grabs at her head, fingers running through her hair. "What? No!"

Brittany grins up at her. "But it looks funny."

"What's the point in having a wife if she lets you sit around looking _funny_ ," Quinn huffs, rocking onto her knees to get off the bed.

But Brittany hooks her leg around Quinn's, pulling her down across Brittany's body. "I like it when you look funny."

She runs her hands up Quinn's back, and then up into her hair, removing the piece of tape that's there. And then there's skin within reach, so of course she kisses it.

"The presents aren't finished yet," Quinn says, even as Brittany presses kisses across Quinn's collar. "My mother will hear."

She leaves a trail of kisses up Quinn's neck. "Are you done arguing yet?"

"Nuh uh," Quinn says, and Brittany feels the breath behind it against her temple. "We'll be tired tomorrow."

She makes her way up to Quinn's ear, tracing around the edge. "Done now?"

"Yeah," Quinn pants, and Brittany chuckles when she hears the boxes kicked off the edge of the bed.

The sound probably woke Judy, but she's not going to mention that pretty much ever.

…

"Ma!" Annabelle shouts, waving her fist about.

"That's you," Brittany says around a yawn, and Quinn slips off the edge of the couch to sit on the floor.

Annabelle bundles up the wrapping paper she's playing with and toddles over to Quinn; a new trick she's only just managed. "What's up, baby girl?"

"Santa 'gain?" she asks, her little body flopping against Quinn.

Brittany chuckles, “That’s the Christmas spirit.”

“It is when you’re almost one,” Quinn says, looking around for something to give Annabelle as she pats at Quinn's face with the paper in her hand.

"Hand me that box of blocks? I think I opened that one."

Brittany stretches over the side of the couch, pulling the box out from under a pile of clothes from Judy.

"These are from Grandma," Quinn tells her, setting the box on her knee. "Do you want to smash these together and make a bunch of noise?"

Annabelle's fingers scratch at the box, her hand opening and closing on the flat surface as her face screws up in frustration. "No. Santa."

She waves her little fist around, the one still clutching the wrapping paper, and Brittany grins at how smart Annabelle is—of course it's not from Santa if it doesn't have wrapping paper.

“What did you do with the wrapping paper?”

“It’s in the trash.” Quinn says, her eyes widening. “You are not giving our daughter something out of the trash, my mother will have a stroke.”

“That's gross.” Honestly, her wife, sometimes. “But there’s still a roll in our room, right?”

Quinn has the good grace to blush, and Brittany pokes her tongue out as she climbs to her feet, Annabelle’s eyes following her as she goes. 

She takes the stairs two at a time and finds it under the bed, where it’d rolled off after Quinn had kicked it out of the way.  She can’t help grinning as she reaches for it, remembering the night before—“No, focus,” she mumbles as she pushes herself up again and tries not to look at the bed.

Wrapping paper, daughter, absolutely no sex with her hot wife.

Or at least, not right now. Maybe later.

Annabelle’s eyes light up when she sees her come back with the paper, making grabby hands when Brittany carefully tugs it off the cardboard tube, so it doesn’t rip. She lays the sheet down on the floor and Annabelle crawls over to it immediately, her fingers closing around the edges as she pulls it up over her head.

“Bye,” Annabelle says, completely serious, and Quinn laughs.

“Tired of our company already.”

“She’d be more interested if we were bright green and shiny too,” Brittany says, tucking herself around Quinn on the floor and dropping a kiss to her shoulder.

Quinn's eyes dart in the direction of the kitchen, and then she leans back into the leg Brittany has bent up behind her, reaching a hand up to trace over her cheek lightly. “Then I’m lucky you’re not. This way I get you all to myself,” she says, biting her lip as she half turns into her.

Brittany’s just about to kiss her when Annabelle shouts again. “Ma!”

“Nope,” Brittany says, laughing. “And that’s you again,” but she still manages to find Quinn’s lips for a moment before Annabelle stumbles into them, dragging the paper behind her.

…

She's washing dishes with her sister, her mom and Annabelle playing some card game with Quinn at the kitchen table, when she sees Sam's car pull up at the side of the house, and she's about to say so when—

"Sam's here," Quinn says, her voice somehow managing to crack on a whisper, and she dashes through the front hall and out the door before Brittany's even set down the glass she was drying.

Brittany watches out the kitchen window as Quinn hurries down the porch steps, pulling Sam's door open the rest of the way and tugging him out of the car. He looks startled for all of two seconds before Quinn says something, and then his face breaks into a smile as his hand comes up to hold Quinn tightly.

This is why she didn't want to leave coming back any longer.

Brittany leaves the window, because Quinn’s going to bring him inside eventually, and rescues Annabelle from her mom's clutches.

She bounces Annabelle on her hip and when she reaches the front hall, Sam’s blinking in the doorway, this startled sort of expression on his face. “Is that—”

“Annabelle,” Brittany says, coming over to stand in front of him. “Say hi to Uncle Sam.”

Annabelle kicks her legs and blinks around at him, and after a moment Sam’s hand reaches out to stroke against the bottom of her foot.

“Hi, Annabelle.” He catches her foot and wiggles it a little, and Brittany’s pretty sure Annabelle glares at him, even if he doesn’t notice.

“Hi,” Annabelle mumbles, which is about as much as Brittany expects, until she tilts her little body forward over Brittany's arm, reaching out in Sam's direction.

"Oops, someone wants to make friends," Brittany laughs, and holds Annabelle in front of Sam until he takes her.

His eyes widen, but his hand comes up to support her butt as the other wraps around her back, just like Brittany knew they would. Sam stares so hard it looks painful, the same way Quinn looks sometimes when she thinks Brittany doesn’t notice, and Annabelle stares back, as much as a ten month old can. "How is the little munchkin?"

"How about you ask her that," Quinn says, leaning against Sam.

Brittany wraps her arm around his neck, hugging him close before taking Quinn's hand and heading in the direction of the kitchen to give Sam and Annabelle some time alone. "She's a pretty good conversationalist."

 

1\. QUINN

Quinn steps over the presents beside the bed, dodges the one creaky floorboard, and pulls the bedroom door closed behind her.

"Quinn, you're awake early."

She should have been more worried about the _other_ person in the house besides Brittany and Annabelle.

Not that her mom's been something to really worry about anymore. She came to their wedding, and that had been strange and uncomfortable, but from the moment she knew Brittany was pregnant with Annabelle, she'd been everything a grandmother was supposed to be.

"Merry Christmas, mom." She comes further into the kitchen, and leans down to let her mother kiss her on the cheek from where she's sitting at the table. "You're awake early, too."

“The noise woke me up.” Quinn freezes, feeling heat floor her cheeks, and she fights hard to keep her expression neutral. She’d done her best to get Brittany to be quiet but if her mom heard them—“From the snowstorm. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh,” Quinn says, and it sounds more like a sigh of relief than anything. “We must have slept through it.” She’s proud of how steady it comes out.

"Of course, dear." Judy sips at her coffee for a moment. "So what brings you down here so early?"

"Pancakes," Quinn says, and then glances at Judy. She hadn't thought to include her mother in their pancake breakfast. "I didn't think you'd be awake," she says stiltedly. "You're welcome to join us."

Judy nods after a half second of hesitation that Quinn can’t help but catch. “Is Brittany bringing Annabelle down?”

Quinn pauses where she’s gathering the ingredients together. “Um, actually, we usually eat in bed.” She’s not sure if the way her mom’s face falls is because of the expensive sheets in her guest room or—

“That sounds lovely, dear, but I’m not really hungry.”

No, she doesn't suppose her mother is hungry. “Okay,” she manages to say, staring down at the eggs and flour as she hears her mom’s chair scrape back from the table.

Judy sets her coffee cup on the counter and runs the tap, filling the sink next to where Quinn's measuring out the right amount of flour. As she's adding the eggs, Judy reaches over and takes the measuring cup from off the side.

"Are you finished with this one?"

 "Yeah," Quinn nods, carefully mixing the batter, and not watching her mother wash one coffee cup and one measuring cup. Judy catches her eye, and Quinn offers her a tight smile. “Thanks, mom.”

She's pulling out a pan to start heating when Judy clears her throat gently. "What is Santa bringing Annabelle this year?"

Quinn bites her lip to keep from smiling at that, thinking of the woman asleep upstairs who would approve.

"Probably too much," Quinn sighs, "but it's the first Christmas she'll really enjoy. We got her this cute little thing that looks like an alien, and these crazy building blocks that slot together instead of stacking." She hands the jug she just emptied to Judy. "They’re supposed to encourage fine motor skills development."

Brittany is the one who picked them out, and besides the educational part, Quinn's sure she just wants to play with them herself.

"We got her a ton of books, too," she says, pouring the pancake batter into the pan.

"Oh." Judy blinks at her. "What about a nice doll, though, Quinnie?"

"Mom—"

"Sorry," Judy says, voice strained. "Quinn. What about a nice doll, Quinn?"

"We got her a doll," Quinn sighs, flipping the pancake over. "It looks like an alien."

"But—"

"Mom." Quinn shifts the pan off the burner and turns to Judy. "Annabelle's not— She's going to play with lots of toys in her life. They don't all need to be pink dolls."

Judy doesn't look at her, rinsing the jug off and setting it on the drying rack. "Of course."

"Mom—"

"No." Judy turns to meet her eye. "You're right. You're right, Quinn." And then her mother kisses her cheek, grasping her hand. "Don't let anyone tell you you're not."

Judy goes to move past her, but Quinn tightens her grip on her hand.

"Mom, wait." Judy pauses. "Come and have breakfast with us."

“I need to start preparing for lunch—”

“Mom,” Quinn says again, " _please._ "

There’s this pause, and Quinn thinks she’s going to have another thing to add to the list of times her mother has disappointed her until—

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Quinn says, her voice back to normal, even as she runs a trembling hand over her face. “Can you pass me that plate?”

…

"Quinn, why didn't you— Oh."

Quinn watches Brittany tug the sheet up her body, and feels the space between her and her mother widen as she steps through the door and Judy doesn't.

"I'll just, um, wait," Judy chokes out.

"Mom," Quinn says, not turning around, "could you go get Annabelle? She'll be awake by now."

"What's going on?" Brittany asks once Judy's footsteps fade down the hallway.

Quinn sets the tray she's carrying on the bed, away from Brittany's legs. "Mom's going to have breakfast with us."

"Cool," Brittany says without pausing. "Can you toss me my shirt. And my pants."

Quinn picks up Brittany's clothes from where they're lying on the floor, bringing them over.

"Merry Christmas," she says, leaning down to kiss Brittany. "Now put some clothes on before my mother comes back."

"Come here first." Brittany pulls her back down so their mouths can meet again. "Merry Christmas," she says against Quinn's lips.

"Merry Christmas," Quinn says around a grin.

"You said that already," Brittany chuckles, and tugs Quinn fully onto the bed.

She hears footsteps, and when Judy appears at the door, Annabelle rubbing her eyes from her perch on Judy's hip, Quinn's slightly out of breath and Brittany's only halfway into her pants.

Judy clears her throat, but she doesn’t walk away, and Quinn’s so busy being surprised by that that she doesn’t even see how Brittany manages to finish getting dressed.

“Merry Christmas, Judy,” Brittany says innocently, grinning at her until Judy offers her an uncertain smile back.

“Merry Christmas, Brittany,” Judy says, stepping into the room and setting Annabelle down on the bed.

"Mom!" Annabelle says, scooting up the bed towards Quinn and settling in her lap. "Santa come?"

"He did, baby girl," Quinn says, watching her mother, "but we're going to have breakfast with Grandma first, okay?"

Annabelle's whole body swivels around so she can frown at Judy, standing at the end of the bed. "Grandma?"

"Is that okay, Annabelle?" Judy lowers herself onto the end of the bed, steadying the tray of food.

"Grandma, you like pancakes?" Annabelle asks, sliding off Quinn's lap and crawling back across the bed.

"I do," Judy says, holding out a hand for Annabelle to grab as she tries to stand on the mattress.

Annabelle pushes herself into Judy's arms and sits herself down on her lap. "You share mine."

Quinn tries to swallow the lump in her throat as Brittany’s hand creeps into hers, squeezing softly.

“It’s a Christmas miracle,” Brittany whispers, when she leans in to sneakily press a kiss to Quinn’s cheek.

 

2\. BRITTANY

It takes three months for Brittany to bring Quinn around on the idea of a tricycle.

“What if she falls off it and breaks her head?”

“Quinn," Brittany says, giving her a look. "The whole point of tricycles is that they can’t do that.”

“I still don’t like it,” Quinn says, and Brittany moves closer on the couch, turning until they’re face to face and their knees are bumping.

“If we don’t let her fall down she won’t learn how to get back up.” She takes Quinn’s hand in both of hers and strokes her thumbs over the skin gently. It’s supposed to be comforting, but Quinn’s eyes go wide.

“But you just said tricycles couldn’t fall over.”

Brittany sighs, fighting a smile, because her wife is giving her heartburn.

…

She’s never seen an almost-three year old look skeptical before, but somehow their daughter manages it. 

Annabelle squints at the tricycle Brittany just helped her get out of the box and then back up at her, doubtfully. “That bike has three wheels,” she says. “And a _bell_.”

“A bell for Annabelle,” Brittany says cheerily, reaching over to ring it. Annabelle isn’t as impressed as Brittany thought she’d be, but that seems to be a regular occurance just recently.

“It’s a tricycle,” Quinn puts in from behind them when it’s obvious Annabelle isn’t going to say anything else. “That’s why it has three wheels. Tri means three and bi means two.”

Annabelle is quiet for a minute, considering. “So I’m bi?”

Quinn opens her mouth but no words come out and Brittany can see her slowly start to turn red. “No, that’s not—”

Brittany can't quite catch her breath to say anything, just clutches at Quinn's arm and buries her face in her neck, because Annabelle will not take kindly to this much laughter at her expense.

"—Annabelle, it's two _things_. Bi means two _things_. Like two wheels."

“I got two feet,” Annabelle says, tapping them for emphasis. "And two hands. I'm lots of twos. I'm lots of bi. Bi-hands and bi-feet."

"Oh my god," Quinn groans, covering her face, "where is my mother and how do we make sure she stays there for the next hour?"

By the time Brittany gets herself under control, Quinn's frowning in Annabelle's direction, where she's opened her new tub of markers and is drawing something on the side of the box.

"She's playing with the _box_. We get her a _tricycle_ and she plays with the box."

"Bi-present," Brittany wheezes, clutching Quinn harder and feeling her start to shake with laughter, too.

“You’re a bad influence,” Quinn says, but she’s laughing too much to even pretend to make it sound serious.

…

Judy carves the turkey—they didn’t come back to Lima for Thanksgiving, so she’d refused to cook anything else—as Quinn tries to tuck a napkin into Annabelle’s shirt, looking like she’s losing the battle.

Brittany’s pretty sure she’s lost the war too.

Judy had put out name cards on each of the seats because some of her family need to be separated, and Brittany finds herself seated at Judy's left, Quinn to Judy's right, and Annabelle wriggling around in her seat on Quinn’s other side.

Quinn's Uncle Jim is on Brittany's other side, smelling like the inside of an ashtray, and she moves the centerpiece of stinky flowers closer to him.

“Stop moving around so much, Belle." Quinn says, as Annabelle tries to push her away. "Do you want one piece or two pieces of turkey?”

“Two pieces of turkey?” Annabelle stops and leans forward in her seat to get a better look before turning back to Quinn. “Is turkey bi?”

Judy drops the knife she’s holding, and Quinn visibly jerks in her seat at the noise it makes hitting the plate. The entire room falls silent, although Brittany's not sure if it was because of the noise or what Annabelle said.

“No, that’s not—”

“Annabelle,” Brittany says loudly, saving Quinn from trying to come up with something, “would you like some turkey?”

“Can I have bi pieces of turkey?”

The silence is so deep she thinks she can hear Judy breathing, in and out in this perfectly controlled way that’s a little scary. Until she realizes that, no, actually that’s her wife at the other end of the table, and it's not just a little scary anymore.

“Of course you can, Ding Dong,” Brittany says quickly, lifting her plate up and holding it out to Judy. “And I would like tri pieces of turkey, please.” She grins at Judy until she starts to smile back, only it looks like she doesn’t quite understand why she is.

Judy moves slowly, but pretty soon there’s a piece of turkey on her plate and another on its way.

“Tri means three, grandma,” Annabelle says when Judy hesitates, and Judy nods.

"It does, sweetheart, aren't you clever. How many pieces would your mom like," she asks, turning to Quinn but still addressing Annabelle. "Your mom likes the stuffing, so she usually only has—" Judy pauses, "—uni piece."

Brittany isn't sure who she wants to hug more right now, but when Quinn looks up from where she’s been staring at her plate Brittany can’t hear her breathing anymore, so maybe it's Judy.

"I'd like bi pieces, please, mom."

Then again, maybe it's her wife.

 

3\. QUINN

"What is _this_?"

Quinn bites at her lip, even as Brittany says, "You loved this last year, Ding Dong."

"I don't remember that."

Annabelle looks over at Quinn, and she bites down harder to keep from laughing at both her wife and her daughter's equally alarmed expressions.

“Is this my only present?”

“Don’t be ungrateful, sweetheart,” Quinn says, eyeing Annabelle seriously. It doesn't matter that Brittany wrapped a giant cardboard box with nothing inside it, it's the thought that counts.

“Yes, mom.” Annabelle shuffles a little on the floor and then turns to Brittany automatically, “Thanks for the box, mom.”

Brittany grins and reaches to pull her into a hug, winking at Quinn over Annabelle's shoulder before she squirms out of Brittany's arms.

"I think if you look behind the couch, there might be one more thing from Santa."

Annabelle squints up at Brittany, and then turns on Quinn. "Really?"

"You'll have to go and find out."

Brittany stood in line on Black Friday for five hours to get this—honestly, Quinn isn't entirely sure _what_ it is, but all the kids at preschool want it—and Annabelle screams when she pulls the wrapping paper back to reveal the whatever-it-is.

"I love it!"

Annabelle runs back around the couch, launching herself into Brittany's lap. "Can you tell Santa I said thank you?" she asks seriously.

"I'll tell Santa," Brittany says, matching Annabelle's tone, and Quinn pulls out her phone to snap a picture of Annabelle snuggling into Brittany's chest.

…

Annabelle screams every time they go down the bank of snow on the sled Brittany's dad dragged out, and Quinn winces from where she's standing on the porch.

"She gets that from you," Brittany says, arms snaking around Quinn's waist.

Quinn leans back against Brittany's warmth, tucking her hands inside the ones holding her close. "She does not."

"Wanna bet?" Brittany asks against her ear.

She's distracted by the way Brittany’s breath tickles against her skin, and she says “yes” before she thinks better of it. It’s only when Brittany starts to smirk that she thinks she should have asked what the bet was actually going to involve.

…

“We’re too big to fit together.”

“No we’re not.”

Quinn shoves her hands into her pockets and shakes her head. “It’s for kids.”

“You’re very small,” Brittany says, pushing her feet into the front of the sled.

“And you're very rude.”

Brittany has somehow managed to wrestle the sled away from her dad, and Annabelle had seemed content enough to let them have a go once Brittany explained that Quinn loved sledding just as much as she did and besides, “what did we tell you about sharing, Ding Dong?”

"Come on," Brittany says, smiling up at her, and it's a mystery how Quinn has ever said no to anything Brittany's ever asked her. She's not entirely sure she ever has.

Brittany holds out her hand and she takes a step forward until she can grasp her fingers. Brittany tugs, and it’s some kind of Brittany magic, because then she’s sitting in front of her wife, eyes closed tightly.

“Ready?” Brittany whispers against her ear.

"No," she says, shaking her head, and Brittany chuckles.

"You're always ready," Brittany says, and then shoves the sled forward.

Quinn loses the bet horribly—"Mom, you scream loud!" Annabelle helpfully points out—but she kind of wins too, when Brittany tells her what she wants for winning.

 

4\. BRITTANY

“Grandma,” she hears Annabelle say, drawing the syllables out. “Can I come to church with you?”

Brittany’s first thought is, "does she want to become a nun this week?" but that's a little dark, even for Annabelle. She knew letting her watch The Sound of Music was a bad idea.

Going to church isn’t something she and Quinn usually do, even though her parents have always gone to the Christmas Eve service, and Judy's joined them for the last couple of years. Brittany has a sneaking suspicion it's got something to do with it not conflicting with Christmas morning present opening, but she’d never say that to Judy.

"Oh." Judy pauses. "I think that might be past your bedtime, sweetheart."

Brittany's never had much use for church—too many pictures of dead guys nailed to walls for her liking, and too many rules that only upset people—but Quinn always went, at least until Annabelle was born. She never told Brittany why she stopped, and Brittany’s never thought it was her place to ask, but Quinn and Annabelle say a prayer every night before Annabelle goes to bed so she’s not going to argue if it’s something Annabelle wants to check out.

And there's a chance Annabelle might actually sleep in in the morning if she stays up late. A small chance. Tiny, even.

“If it’s okay with you, Judy, we’ll make an exception this once,” she says, stepping into the room.

The quickest smile flashes across Annabelle’s face, like she’s forgotten she doesn’t usually do that. “Can I, grandma? Please?”

Judy only hesitates for a second. “If your mom says it’s okay.”

She means Quinn, Brittany can tell.

Still, she doesn't hesitate in answering for Quinn. “It’s fine.”

And it is. Quinn would never stop Annabelle from doing something she wanted to do unless it was something that was going to hurt her, and Brittany doesn’t think nuns are that bad in the grand scheme of things.

“All the children dress up on Christmas Eve. Is that something you’d like to do, Annabelle?”

Annabelle’s eyes narrow, like she’s sensing a trap. “Dress up as what?”

“Usually the children come as shepherds or angels or wise men from the nativity. How would you like to be an angel?”

Annabelle looks like she wouldn’t like it at all, but after Brittany gives her a nudge with her hand she says, “Okay, grandma.”

It doesn’t sound okay at all, the way she says it.

"I might even have a gown from when Quinn was little that you could wear," Judy says, and it's probably good that she goes in search of it and misses the scowl on Annabelle's face.

…

“Oh please tell me you’ll get a picture of Annabelle’s face before she leaves.” Quinn laughs when she comes in to find Brittany poking around in Judy’s sewing box. “I _hated_ that gown when I was a kid.”

…

"I don't want to be an angel."

Brittany bites her lip to keep from laughing at the way Annabelle is glaring out from underneath her halo. “You look great, Ding Dong.”

She finishes adjusting the straps she's attached to the cardboard wings and holds them out to her, but Annabelle doesn’t move.

“That’s not why I don’t want to be an angel.”

Of course it’s not, she knows her daugher. “Why don’t you want to be an angel?”

“Because,” Annabelle says, shifting her weight to the side and folding her arms. She looks adorable, but Brittany knows better than to laugh at her. “I want to be a Wise Man.”

“I think there are three of those already.” Brittany wiggles the wings a little, but Annabelle just glares harder.

“Wise Men don’t have _wings_ , though. They get _beards_.”

"Do you want a beard?"

"Yes," Annabelle nods. "Like grandpa. And then I can shave it all off, and grow it again."

"You know girls can't really do that, right? Not most of the time."

"Why not?"

"Because," Brittany pauses. Trying to explain science to a four year old is kind of like explaining feelings to her wife. "There are some things that girls' bodies can do easily, and there are some things that boys' bodies can do easily. Boys can grow beards easily, but girls can't."

Annabelle knocks her foot against the wings Brittany's still holding. "That's not fair."

"It's not. But, if you want a beard when you're a bit older, or if you think you should have a boy's body, we could get you some medicine that can make it happen."

"Like I'm sick?" Annabelle's face scrunches up.

"No, Ding Dong, not like you're sick." Brittany tosses the wings onto the bed behind her. "It's medicine because it comes from a doctor, but it's not because you're sick."

"So I could have a beard?" Annabelle glances at the wings on the bed, and takes a half step towards them.  Brittany pretends she doesn’t notice.

"Of course. But how about for now you have wings?"

"I suppose," Annabelle sighs, like she just agreed to eat peas or something.

"And maybe you could be a Wise Man when you get home."

Annabelle lets Brittany slip the wings over her shoulders, shaking her arms to get them on right. "I'm always a Wise Man."

"You are," Brittany says, "you're the smartest person I know."

"I can't be," Annabelle says, the 'duh' silent, "I'm only _four_."

Well. Brittany knows when she's been told.

…

"Did you hear something?"

"No," Brittany says, before going back to what she was doing.

"Seriously," Quinn says, pulling Brittany's mouth away, "I think I just heard a car door slam."

"It's not them, stop worrying." But Quinn’s tense underneath her, and really she might as well have asked her to stop breathing. She sighs, pushing herself up on her hands. “Quinn, really. The service won’t even be over yet, and then they have to drive home.”

She should probably feel guilty that her parents and Judy are having to deal with Annabelle’s sunny disposition right now, but she’s not really complaining because they get to do this.

"You're right, I'm sorry, I want to do this," Quinn says, pulling Brittany in for a brief kiss. "But if my mother sees us having sex under the Christmas tree, you're dealing with her."

…

It's not her fault that Quinn's so loud she didn't hear the car pull up.

(It's totally her fault.)

…

Brittany trips over the presents, steps on every creaky floorboard, and manages to slam the bedroom door shut.

"Good morning, Brittany," Judy says, startling her as she comes into the kitchen.

“Um,” Brittany says. “Good morning?” She’s not entirely sure what to do with herself.

"I was expecting Quinn," Judy says, smiling behind her coffee cup. "Is she unwell this morning?"

Brittany thinks she's being sassed by her mother-in-law, and that might be the first sign of alien invasion.

"She's on her way down," Brittany says, backing up towards the door. "I'll go see what's keeping her."

She has to warn Quinn her mother's been taken over by pod people.

…

When she gets back upstairs, Quinn is staring at her with wide eyes, the covers drawn up to her chin.

“Your mom's been taken over by aliens.”

“That’s nice, since I’m never going to see her again,” Quinn says, pulling the covers up until Brittany can't see her anymore.

 

5\. QUINN

It was supposed to be just Sam.

But Blaine is in Westerville visiting his parents, and Mercedes is in town, too. And then Santana's in Lima for the first time in _years_ and suddenly it's a bunch of them standing around her mom's back yard.

A bunch of them and Annabelle.

Sam has somehow managed to convince Annabelle to build a snowman—she still isn’t sure how—and that means they all have to go and help. 

She's watching through the kitchen window, waiting for the kettle to boil, when Santana appears beside her.

"How is it that out of everyone, it's only you and Britt who've managed to spawn so far?"

"Jealous?"

"No," Santana fires back immediate, "have you _seen_ my girlfriend?"

"Have you seen my wife?"

"Yeah, I have actually."

Quinn laughs, which she never would have done six years ago. “Shut up.”

"She's cute, Q." Off Quinn's look, Santana continues, "I mean it. I should come visit more often, now that she's all person sized and not pukes-and-screams sized."

"She never puked on you," Quinn defends her daughter.

"Yeah, but it was only a matter of time," Santana says, looking out the window too, and Quinn nudges her until she rolls her eyes and laughs. "That's all there is to babies. Puke and screaming. But—" Santana turns to face Quinn, "—she's pretty cool now."

“You could have one all of your very own."

"Don't even, you crazy bitch. And ruin this body?" Santana pulls a face. "No thanks."

Quinn rolls her eyes, even as she leans against Santana's shoulder.

"Besides," Santana says, slinging her arm around Quinn, "I don't need one. I can come visit Annabelle whenever I want a trip to Boring Old People Land."

"You know we're the same age, right?"

"Please. In physical years, maybe. Not in, like, life experience or whatever.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

"Sure it does. It's like how dogs are alive for like 7 years and they're ancient, and I'm alive for thirty one years and still salsa caliente."

Quinn blinks, wishing Brittany was here to check the math. “That still doesn’t make any sense.”

"It means I'm still hot."

“Brittany's still hot and she had a baby."

Santana looks at her sideways for a moment, before replying. "You did, too."

She swallows hard at that, refusing to give in to her immediate reaction. "You still think I'm hot? I didn't know you cared."

Santana shifts her arm up from around Quinn's shoulders, tugging her closer to press a kiss to her cheek. "Always, Q."

They stand there for a moment, leaning against each other, until somebody throws a snowball outside and Annabelle starts screaming about it not being safe.

…

Annabelle goes straight to Sam when they’re all inside after, trying to get warm by climbing into his lap. The way the light hits their wet hair from the snowball fight, it’s exactly the same color, and Quinn watches Annabelle glare at Sam until he wraps an arm around her shoulders to hold her steady.

...

It’s getting late, so Blaine and Mercedes have to leave to get back to their families. Blaine offers Annabelle his hand to shake before kissing Quinn and Brittany on the cheek, and Mercedes rolls her eyes at how formal he’s being as she pulls them all into hugs.

Pretty soon it’s just Sam and Santana, shifting awkwardly in the hallway like they’re thinking they should leave too.

“Come play with me,” Annabelle says when nobody moves. She latches onto Sam’s hand and starts to tug him back towards the living room, and Quinn guesses they don’t have a choice.

…

It must be the cocoa, because she’s starting to feel like she’s going to fall asleep.

Brittany catches her yawning and pulls her against her side on the couch, her fingers sliding through her hair and rubbing against her scalp in this way that makes her want to give in.

She settles for tucking her feet up under Brittany’s and lacing their fingers together, trying to concentrate on the game of Connect 4 that Sam, Annabelle and Santana are playing on the floor.

Really, Annabelle hasn’t been this nice to any of their friends pretty much ever, and she laughs as she watches her start to argue with Santana.

“It’s in the rules, Auntie ‘Tana.”

“It wasn’t in the rules when I was a kid.”

“When dinosaurs roamed the earth,” Sam stage whispers to Annabelle, and she bends her head back to look at him, almost toppling over where she’s leaning against him.

“That was millions of years ago and she’s not a million, Uncle Sam.”

“Thanks, kiddo,” Santana laughs, slapping her hand against Sam’s knee. “You got a smart kid right here, Britt.”

“Sure,” Brittany agrees easily. “She knows you’re only a thousand, right, Ding Dong?”

“Yes,” Annabelle agrees, although Quinn doesn’t think she’s really listening.

Brittany’s the first one to laugh and then Sam joins in, jostling Annabelle where she’s trying to pop out another one of Santana’s counters.

Santana’s the only one who’s silent, glaring at each of them in turn.

Annabelle peers up at them all, her face scrunching up in confusion. “Why are you laughing?”

...

Annabelle bumps into Santana’s legs and wraps her arms around them when she’s tugging her coat on, waiting for Sam to do the same.

Brittany looks at her with wide eyes and she’s thinking exactly the same thing—it’s probably the first time Annabelle’s hugged someone that isn’t family.

“Come back soon, please,” Annabelle says, which is maybe the nicest thing she’s ever said to anyone, and Santana blinks down at her like she doesn’t know what to do.

“You got it, kiddo,” she says, patting her sort of awkwardly on the head.

It’s Sam who saves them, scooping Annabelle up and lifting her up above his head until she starts to grumble. “And what about me?”

“You always come back, Uncle Sam.” Annabelle reaches down and tugs at his hair. “Put me down.”

Sam snickers but does as she asks. “I’ll see you soon, Annabelle.”

“I _know_.”

Santana starts to laugh and Quinn elbows her in her ribs to get her to stop.

“Say goodbye, Annabelle,” Brittany says gently, reaching out to rest her hand on Annabelle’s head.

“Goodbye Annabelle," she says, and Quinn thinks this is the kind of thing that might have embarrassed the hell out of her, once upon a time.

"Rude little munchkin," Santana smirks. "I like it."

"Say goodbye to Auntie Tana, too," Quinn says, trying not to grin, even when Annabelle replies, "goodbye to Auntie Tana too."

 

6\. BRITTANY

Quinn hasn't put her camera down since it started, and Brittany's not sure who's more likely to rush the stage—her mom or Judy.

But Annabelle is standing on the altar, dressed as Mary with a plastic baby Jesus hidden under her costume, and she should have said her line a moment ago.

"What do we do?" Quinn whispers frantically.

Brittany doesn't know, but she's not going to just leave Annabelle up there on her own, and she's about to make a break for it down the aisle, when Annabelle finally opens her mouth.

"What do you want?" she says, and Brittany's pretty sure Mary is supposed to be frightened, and not pissed off, but she'll take it.

There's only one other shaky moment—apparently Mary wants to ride to Bethlehem on a monkey, which Brittany thinks would be cool—but the audience stops laughing when Annabelle glares out at them and the rest of the play goes off without a hitch.

…

“You should get ready for bed, honey, or Santa won’t come,” Brittany says, hiding a yawn behind her hand as the credits start to roll on the cartoon they’d been watching.

If she doesn’t go to bed soon they’re not going to have time to wrap Annabelle’s presents, never mind anything else. She likes the anything else.

Annabelle’s eyes narrow, but she nods and pushes herself to her feet. “Yes, mom.”

“Say goodnight to your grandma,” Quinn calls after her, but she doesn’t look like she’s going to move, too busy blinking sleepily and running a hand over her face.

“I’ll go make sure she does.” Brittany climbs to her feet and then leans back down until her lips are pressed to Quinn’s ear. “And you need to wake up.”

“I know, we still have to wrap the presents,” Quinn groans, but she’s starting to nuzzle into Brittany a little, her lips catching against Brittany’s neck.

“And unwrap the presents.” Brittany stands back up and glances around to make sure they’re alone before sliding the sweatpants she’s wearing down her hip a little. Quinn’s eyes go straight to the red lace just like she knew they would, and Brittany hears her swallow.

Quinn makes some noise that sounds like an agreement, and Brittany smiles sweetly as she moves towards the door. “See you upstairs.”

She’s just thinking about how much she likes doing nice things for her wife, when she hears Annabelle’s voice drifting towards her from the kitchen, and she pauses halfway towards the staircase.

“Grandma, I know there’s no Santa.”

Oh no.

“Of course there is Annabelle, where else do your presents come from?”

“From mom and mom.” She doesn’t say 'obviously', but Brittany can hear it in her voice as she moves closer to peek around the doorframe. “I’m not a baby anymore. I _know_.”

“Brittany and Quinn still believe in Santa and they’re not babies. And neither am I.”

She didn’t know Judy had it in her, not after everything Quinn had told her about her Christmases as a kid.

“Grandma,” Annabelle starts, “if someone really lived at the North Pole they’d freeze. And how does he get around the whole world in one night? It’s _stupid_. Reindeer can’t fly. I saw one at the zoo and it didn’t have wings.”

“It’s magic, baby girl.” Brittany says, stepping into the room before Judy can answer. She knew she shouldn’t have let Quinn take her to that zoo; what kind of place kidnaps Santa’s reindeer anyway?

Annabelle blinks at her and then shifts to look back at Judy, but when they both look serious her eyes scrunch up like she’s not sure if she believes them. “Magic,” she asks, like it’s a dirty word.

“Magic,” Brittany says firmly, scooping her up into her arms. “And I think he has a time machine like mine."

Annabelle frowns at her, and Brittany can see she wants to give in.

"Maybe his works better than yours,” she says slowly.

“Santa’s an awesome inventor, how else would he make the toys?”

“Oh,” Annabelle says, her frown starting to disappear. “That makes sense.”

"Now come on, it’s time for bed. Say goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Annabelle and Judy say it at the same time and Judy grins up at Annabelle.

Brittany shifts her grip on her daugher until she’s hanging in the air in front of Judy. “You go first, Ding Dong.”

“That’s not my name,” Annabelle says, squinting up at her.

“Of course it is, you picked it,” Brittany says, and lifts her a little higher. “Say goodnight.”

“Goodnight, grandma,” she says gravely, wriggling until Brittany moves her close enough to kiss Judy on the cheek.

“Goodnight, Annabelle,” Judy says, equally serious. “Sleep well.”

…

Quinn’s not in the guest room when she’s tucked Annabelle in, and she goes downstairs to find her because her present would really like to be unwrapped now.

“She told me she doesn’t believe in Santa anymore.” She pauses when she hears Judy’s voice, and maybe it’s a little creepy listening in on a conversation again, but this doesn’t sound like something she wants to interrupt.

“Brittany’s going to be devastated.”

“I think Brittany convinced her, actually. Annabelle looks up to her more than she’d ever let on.” There’s a pause and Brittany hears someone moving around. “You know, Brittany’s really good with her.”

“Yes, she is,” Quinn says simply, and Brittany can hear the smile in her voice.

“Annabelle’s very lucky, Quinnie.” Judy’s voice sounds thick, like it had the day Annabelle was born.

“Mom—”

“ _Quinn_. I know, I know.”

“No, mom, I mean— Thank you.” Quinn’s voice sounds just the same as Judy’s, like maybe it’s genetic somehow, and when she peeks around the door they’re hugging, kind of awkwardly like they don’t quite know how to work their elbows.

Quinn spies her over her mom’s shoulder, and she must be smiling at them because after a moment Quinn rolls her eyes and lets go.  “Sorry,” Brittany says, because she is, a little. “I was just looking for you. We need to unwrap the presents.”

She doesn’t think Judy catches her mistake but Quinn does, and Brittany watches her flush under the twinkly Christmas lights.

“I don’t know why you always leave it so late.” Judy sighs and stands up, collecting the mugs that held Brittany and Annabelle’s cocoa.

“I guess it’s just habit,” Brittany says, grabbing for Quinn’s hand, and it’s not until they’re halfway up the stairs that Quinn pulls away, slapping at her arm playfully.

“You're terrible,” Quinn says. "My mother knows more than enough about our sex life, thank you."

"I think she knows we have sex, Quinn. How else would we have Annabelle?"

"From the stork, of course," Quinn says, stepping backwards up the stairs.

"Funny." Brittany follows after her. "So, so funny."

 

7\. QUINN

"This is just so wrong."

"It's not though," Brittany says, and Quinn watches as she wriggles around on her towel, stretching to dig her toes into the sand. "It's the best."

The twenty-seven hours of travel might have been worth it just to watch Brittany laid out on the beach, skin shiny with sun screen, while Annabelle glares at the waves each time they roll in and come near her sandcastle.

"Okay, it's not wrong. It's just... weird. It should be snowing, and we should be sitting in front of a fire."

Brittany lowers her sunglasses. "When have we ever just sat in front of a fire at Christmas?"

Quinn doesn't answer that. Her mother has one, but no, they never did the whole Currier and Ives christmas. Not anymore.

"Can you at least pretend this is fun? Maybe it's not whatever it is you have in your head that we usually do for Christmas, but you seem really focused on being warm. Check it out." Brittany gestures around them. "It's pretty warm here."

"It is," Quinn concedes. She doesn't know why she's being this way. "I just— There was no hurrying around after we did presents to get ready for lunch with my mom while she silently judges what Santa brought Annabelle. And your parents didn't get to spoil her silly and your dad didn't take Annabelle sledding after he's had too much eggnog. And, I don't know, it's just all wrong."

"We can call them when they're awake," Brittany says, tracing her finger across Quinn's hand.

Quinn turns away, glaring at the view. "Why don't we have our own things?"

"What do you mean? Of course we have our own things." Brittany sits up, scooting across the towels to lean against Quinn. "You'll make us pancakes, just like every year. And we'll still be wrapping Annabelle's presents at one in the morning, just like every year."

"That's not tradition, that's just... what we do."

"I think that's, like, the definition of tradition," Brittany says, kissing Quinn's shoulder. "So stop looking at the ocean like you want to punch it. That's Annabelle's job."

Quinn chuckles at that. Annabelle's still not impressed by the beach at all.

"You know what else we just _do_ every year?"

Quinn does know, and even though it's already hot as hell she can feel herself flush.

"Sandcastle building might tire her out even more than sledding with grandpa," Quinn says, burying her hand in Brittany's hair.

"Mhmm." Brittany trails her fingers over Quinn’s thigh, smirking a little when she looks at her.  “See, we have traditions.”

Quinn feels the heat in her cheeks spread lower as Brittany’s hand moves a little higher. “ _Britt_ ,” she mumbles, squirming. “We’ll get deported.”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Brittany says seriously. Her hand moves again and Quinn swallows, but doesn't push her away.

“This tradition,” she lowers her voice, “is supposed to happen later.”

“Time zones,” Brittany mumbles, grinning as her eyes slide down to Quinn’s lips.

"The only time zone that matters is the one that has our child wide awake not five feet away from us."

"Are you saying you'd be okay with this if she wasn't here?" Brittany asks, hand shifting to slightly more neutral places. Not that it doesn't feel good anyway.

"Yes," she says, leaning against Brittany.

"Even with all these other people around?"

Quinn can feel the smirk against her shoulder, and then she realizes what Brittany asked. " _No!_ "

Brittany chuckles, but moves away from Quinn's body. "I think you would."

"I think you'll find out what I'm okay with _later_ ," Quinn says, standing up and holding her hand out to Brittany. "Come swimming with me"

"I'm gonna need a minute before I can stand up," Brittany smirks up at her, eyebrows quirked. "Tease."

"Very funny," Quinn says, stepping backwards onto the sand. She calls out louder, "Come swimming with me and Annabelle."

"Can't I just watch?" Brittany asks, leaning back on her hands.

"I don't want to go swimming if mom doesn't," Annabelle pipes up.

"Well then, I guess I want to go swimming," Brittany says, jumping up and leaping in Annabelle's direction.

"Don't stomp my sandcastle!"

"Never, Ding Dong," Brittany says, scooping Annabelle up and carrying her down towards the water as Quinn follows after them.

“Don’t call me that,” Annabelle says. “And put me down!”

"Okay," Brittany smirks back at Quinn, before she wades out until the surf is waist-deep and drops Annabelle in the water. There’s a splash when she hits and then bobs back up, spluttering.

“Moooom!” Annabelle whines, but Quinn’s can hear she’s laughing, and she laughs as well as she stands where the waves lap against her feet, watching Annabelle splash the water at Brittany in retaliation.

 

8\. BRITTANY

"Grandma," Brittany hears Annabelle say, "did you know that there were homosexuals in the Bible and nobody minded?"

They’ve only been at Judy’s for half an hour and this isn't even Brittany's fault.

They moved school districts earlier in the year, and when they were reading the brochures from each school Quinn had gotten really excited when she found an ultra progressive elementary school just a few blocks away. Some of the things the kids learn about make Brittany want to go back to school—last week, the third graders learnt about the history of homosexuality in their Social Studies class, including, apparently, that there was a couple named David and Jonathan in the Bible.

Brittany's hesitating behind the door, not sure if she wants to witness Judy's head explode or if she wants to be as far away as possible, when Quinn comes barreling through the doorway.

"Your daughter's trying to send my mother to an early grave."

Brittany's about to defend herself when she catches Quinn's face as she continues past Brittany, and that's not a look of horror she's trying to suppress.

She watches Quinn disappear out into the back garden, and even through the wood and glass she can hear Quinn choking on laughter.

…

Brittany's unpacking some of their things—they're only going to be there for a handful of days, but she knows Quinn doesn't like to leave everything in the luggage—when Judy knocks on the doorframe. 

“Hi,” Brittany says. “Did Quinn or Annabelle want me for something?”

“No.” Judy clenches her hands in front of her, and it’s a thing she recognizes from when Quinn’s nervous. “I just wondered if I could—” she swallows, “—talk to you for a minute?”

She’s acting kind of weird again, like that year an alien came to Christmas lunch instead of her, but Brittany says “sure” anyway.

“It’s about what Annabelle said earlier,” Judy begins, and Brittany has a feeling she knows where this is going already.

“Yeah, it’s just something she learnt at her new school. She wasn't being, you know, disrespectful."

Judy’s eyes widen. “Oh, no, Brittany—”

“We know your beliefs are important to you.”

“Brittany,” Judy interrupts, coming over to clutch her hands in an attempt to make her stop. Brittany blinks down at them, confused. This has never happened before and she’s not entirely sure what to think.

Judy takes a breath before she speaks again. “You know, I don’t have a problem with your relationship— I _hoped_ you’d know that, by now.”

This is not at all what she was expecting. Maybe the aliens did come back.

Judy smiles, probably at whatever her face is doing right now. “You’re not who I thought my daughter would end up marrying, but I think you might actually be... better.”

“Oh,” Brittany says, waiting for her brain to catch up with her. People are surprising, but not usually _this_ surprising. “Thank you?”

Judy gives her hands a squeeze before she lets them go, stepping back towards the door. “Maybe— maybe, you could tell Quinn that? If she doesn’t already know.”

“I think she'd probably really like to hear that from you herself."

Judy pauses by the door and smiles, only it looks kind of sad. “You know Quinn. She doesn’t always listen to me, but she listens to you.”

“She has to, I’m married to her,” Brittany says, because she doesn’t want this to get sad. It’s _Christmas_.

“Thank God for that,” Judy says, and her smile looks a bit more genuine when she disappears down the hall.

 

9\. QUINN

It’s been snowing pretty heavily, so they’re later than they usually are when they finally get to her mom’s. Judy’s peering through the window, worry etched onto her face when she pulls the car into the driveway, and Brittany chuckles before she climbs out and comes around to help Annabelle get her things out of the car.

“Looks like someone was worried,” Brittany says, once Annabelle’s made a beeline for the warmth of the house and left them to carry the rest of the bags. Judy’s still standing in the doorway watching them, her breath steaming in the cold air.

“So little faith in my driving skills,” Quinn shoots back, and reaches for Brittany’s hand quickly when her smile falters. “Britt, that was a joke. I wasn’t thinking about—” She cuts off and shakes her head.

She really wasn’t. If she spent time thinking about all the things that happened to her in high school she’d never get anything done.

Brittany studies her for a minute, her eyes narrowing like she’s trying to catch her in a lie.

“Besides,” Quinn says, leaning closer, her fingers skipping up the zipper on Brittany’s jacket. “I have to keep my family safe.”

“You’re pretty good at that,” Brittany says after a moment, the corners of her mouth quirking up into a smile again. “But we should get inside, your mom’s waiting.”

“Let her wait,” Quinn says, tugging at Brittany’s jacket until they’re so close that their noses are bumping. “This won’t take long.”

Brittany laughs into the kiss when Quinn pulls her closer, her hand coming up to rest against her jaw. It’s Brittany’s fingers that remind her of how cold it is—her mom isn’t wearing a jacket in the doorway, and they can always do this once they’re inside.

“Come on,” she says, nipping at Brittany’s lips one last time. “Let’s go get warm.”

Brittany lifts the suitcase out of the trunk and swings their other bag onto her shoulder—she never leaves anything for Quinn to carry—and Quinn laughs as she slams the trunk closed.  “And they say chivalry is dead.”

“You’re gonna warm me up later, this is totally a fair trade.”

They’re still outside, but she feels herself flush at Brittany’s words as she follows her towards her the front door. 

...

If one more person knocks into her, she's going to scream.

It's her own fault that they're at the Lima Mall on Christmas Eve, anyway. She'd been so focused on _going_ to Lima this year, she'd ignored the reason they were going in the first place, and now here they are, five minutes away from murder.

"Mom," Annabelle sighs, tapping on the glass, "what about this?"

Quinn squints down at the display case. "If that's what you want, then you should get it."

Brittany will love whatever Annabelle gets for her, but—

"It's not what _I_ want, it's what _mom_ wants."

—Annabelle has some opinions about this.

They head into the next store, and Quinn can see Annabelle doesn't like anything in here, so they move on.

As they're shuffling through all the people, a woman runs a stroller over Annabelle's foot, and Quinn watches as she shrinks back from the glare Annabelle shoots her way. She knows that look, it's probably on her own face right now.

"Belle, how about we take a break and get a snack?"

Annabelle nods and grabs onto Quinn's hand so they don't get separated. They push through the crowd to the food court, and when they get there Annabelle pulls them to a halt.

"Ugh, mom, I don't want to anymore." A frown creases Annabelle's face. "I love mom, but I can make her something at home. Where there _aren't_ all these people being annoying."

Quinn loves her daughter so much. "Let's get out of here."

…

"Why do we even have Christmas?" Annabelle asks, kicking her feet up onto the dashboard.

"Take your shoes off if you're going to do that," Quinn says, before continuing. "Do you want my answer, or do you want your mom's answer?"

"Both."

"Well my answer is that it's when we remember and celebrate the day Jesus was born. But," she pauses to make sure she gets it right, "your mom would say that it's a time we set aside each year to show everyone how much we love them. I think I like her answer better." Her face pulls into a smile without her permission. "Also, a time to eat a lot of candy."

"But that's Valentine's Day. And Halloween."

Annabelle kind of has a point.

"You're right. But, we don't take Valentine's Day or Halloween off to come visit grandma and grandma and grandpa. It's—" Quinn bites her tongue for a second, because this is exactly what Brittany would say, and she's a little proud of herself for working it out, "—kind of like all the good holidays smushed together."

“Okay,” Annabelle says after a moment. “So Mom needs a present that shows her how much I love her and also has candy in it.”

"Maybe throw in a little Thanksgiving, too."

"Um," Annabelle chews on her lip for a moment. "So, something that will make her happy?"

"Exactly," Quinn nods.

Quinn's eyes shift off the road for a second, darting a look at Annabelle just as she shoots one back.

"Not a trampoline," they say at the same time, Annabelle with a frown and Quinn with a chuckle.

"I know what makes mom happy," Annabelle says, sneaking another glance at her as she taps her feet on the dash.

…

Brittany's out with Judy for the afternoon—they keep disappearing together, and Quinn doesn’t even want to know what they’re up to—so she and Annabelle set up in the kitchen, managing to cover every surface in glitter in pursuit of the perfect gift.

…

"Why do you have glitter _here_?" Brittany asks, stopping right in the middle of when Quinn would really like her not to, thumb rubbing across Quinn's hip.

"Uh," Quinn pants, tugging at Brittany's hair. "Surprise?"

Brittany bends back down to nip at Quinn's skin. "Cool."

She really likes this tradition.

 

10\. BRITTANY

It's already daylight when she wakes up, Quinn sprawled on her back beside her and the blankets half on the floor.

Brittany blinks at the clock, and it's definitely Christmas Day, but she should probably be glad Annabelle didn't wake them up since she forgot to put her pants on before they went to sleep a couple of hours ago. Not that Brittany minds, but Annabelle would.

Quinn doesn’t wake up when Brittany gets out of bed to tug her clothes on, and it’s only after she climbs back onto the bed and bumps her nose against Quinn’s cheek that Quinn’s eyes blink open.

“Where’s Annabelle?” Quinn murmurs, looking past Brittany to where the door is still closed. “What time is it?”

"Still early," Brittany says, snuggling closer, "but not as early as usual."

As if summoned by the mention of her name, the bedroom door flies open and bangs against the wall, revealing Annabelle blinking sleepily in the doorway. She stumbles into the bedroom, flopping down onto the bed and crawling up the mattress to wriggle between them. She lies there for a moment, on top of the covers, and then she rolls herself backwards—she's already better in gymnastics than Brittany ever was—and then somehow she's under the covers.

"Merry Christmas," she says, and promptly goes back to sleep.

Quinn chuckles, catching Brittany’s eye over the top of Annabelle’s head. “Merry Christmas,” she says, leaning over Annabelle to kiss Brittany. "I should go see what mom's doing."

It must be some genetic osmosis, because saying her name makes Judy appear in the doorway too.

"There you are." Judy tugs her robe tighter around herself. "I didn't want to start without you."

Quinn eyes Annabelle's sleeping form. "We didn't have our usual alarm clock this morning."

"Goodness, she's so tall," Judy says, coming over to stand at the foot of the bed. "When did that happen?"

Quinn extracts herself from underneath Annabelle's sprawled form, shuffling herself over to the edge of the bed so she can stand up. "Probably while she was sleeping."

"She gets that from you, dear." Judy presses a kiss to Quinn's cheek. "You always slept late at that age."

"Does she get the snoring from Quinn, too?" Brittany probably should have thought that through a little better, because when she tries to duck the pillow Quinn throws at her she falls backwards out of the bed.

"It's very possible," Judy says, fighting a smile as she makes a hasty exit.

"You're all rude," Annabelle mumbles from up on the bed, and Brittany lies back on the hard floor, silently laughing as Quinn stands there looking like she doesn't know how she ended up surrounded by these people.

…

It's getting late enough that Brittany knows her dad is about to break out the sled, and she realizes she hasn't seen Annabelle for a while.

It's easy to lose her now; Brittany's cousins all have kids, and her sister just had a baby—the kid is totally cute but hardly stops screaming, and Brittany's ears aren't used to so much noise anymore—and when they're all in the one place it's a little overwhelming.

She wanders through the house, pausing to blink at her mom and Quinn playing cribbage—it's weird because she didn't think her mom knew how to play that—but Annabelle's nowhere downstairs. 

Before she starts to worry, she remembers there's a whole other half of the house up the stairs, and she takes them two at a time, deciding to start with the bathroom.  She doesn’t make it that far, because when she glances into her old room as she goes past, Annabelle's flopped across the bed, staring at the pictures that were once stuck to the walls, now hanging neatly in frames.

“Found you,” Brittany says, as she leans in the door, and Annabelle rolls onto her back to glare at her.

“I wasn’t hiding. If I was I would have shut the door.”

She has a point there.

When Annabelle was little, Brittany liked to tell her she was the smartest person Brittany knew. It might actually be true now.

“So whatcha doing up here?” Brittany asks, coming over to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Nothing.”

“You must be doing something, Ding Dong.”

Annabelle just gives her a look and rolls back to face the wall. After a moment she points at one of the pictures. "Who's that?"

“That’s your Auntie Santana and me when we were kids. Can’t you tell?” She doesn’t think they look any different. Except shorter, maybe.

“Auntie ‘Tana isn’t your sister,” Annabelle says, squinting at the photo. “You don’t even look the same. So why’s she my Auntie?”

Brittany stares at the picture for a moment, and then at the ones around it—her and Quinn and Santana in their Cheerios uniforms, some of them on stage for glee, there's even one of her and Mike dancing together—and then shifts to lie down beside Annabelle.

"It's like how you marry the person you love the most and you make them a part of your family," she says, finding the picture of her and Quinn sitting on those red steps in Times Square, right beside one of her and Santana at cheerleading camp. "Sometimes there are other people in your life that are so special that calling them your friend, or even your BFF, isn't enough. BFF isn't enough for what your Auntie Santana is to me."

Annabelle's quiet for a while, until she shifts to lean against Brittany's side. "So why didn't you marry Auntie 'Tana then?"

She knows they dated before Brittany was with Quinn, but anything she could say makes it sound like marrying Quinn was second prize, when really it doesn't feel like anything but an Olympic gold medal. She gave up trying to explain love a long time ago, and there’s no point when there’s a much simpler answer anyway.

"Because I married your mom," she says, watching Annabelle take that in.

"Even though you loved Auntie 'Tana?"

"I still love Santana. But it's not the same as the way I love your mom."

"But it's not the same as a sister, either?"

"Not really, no," Brittany says, and then breaks into a grin. "If she was my sister, she'd have to be here for _this_ , and I think she'd probably hate this more than you do."

Annabelle smiles at that, just for a second, before bumping her feet against Brittany's leg. "But you have an actual sister. And mom has one too, doesn't she?"

Brittany shifts around and pulls Annabelle closer, and she grumbles before she tucks her head under Brittany's chin. "She does." Another story for another day. "What are you thinking about, Ding Dong?"

"I don't want a sister," she says, sighing heavily. "It's so _noisy_ downstairs."

"I don't think you have to worry about that," Brittany laughs, "but let's hide up here for a while."

…

She finds Quinn at the kitchen table, the abandoned cribbage board in front of her.  Her mom’s gone, which means Quinn probably won, and she bends to drop a kiss to the top of Quinn’s head as she goes past to get a glass from the cabinet. Quinn doesn’t even look up, attempting to put together one of Annabelle’s presents—a wooden puzzle from Judy that Annabelle had solved in ten minutes and Quinn's been fighting with ever since.

She runs the water and fills the glass, sipping at it for a moment before she says, “Your daughter just told me she doesn’t want a sister.”

“Smart kid,” Quinn says, shoving one of the pieces of wood into a slot. “That way she gets all the presents for the rest of her life.”

Brittany comes over to sit opposite her, reaching for the stack of cards and shuffling them. "And all the attention."

"Something I'm sure she'd be happy to give up." Quinn drops the puzzle onto the table with a sigh. “Did you find her? Was she okay?”

“She was in my old room not-hiding.”

Quinn doesn’t even blink at that; Brittany knows she knows the difference. “Is she still up there?”

“Yeah,” Brittany says, “I told her she didn’t have to come down until she was ready.”

“She wouldn’t have anyway,” Quinn says, and Brittany grins at that.

“No, but it’s nice to hear it sometimes.”

…

Annabelle pokes her head around the door a little later, like she’s checking the coast is clear. 

Brittany's trying to learn how to play cribbage, but she’s pretty sure it’s witchcraft and that never ends well. Just ask Sabrina's fashion sense.

“What are you playing?” Annabelle says, coming over to stand at Quinn’s side and peer down at the board with a frown on her face.

“One of your mom’s old lady card games,” Brittany says, as Quinn answers, "cribbage," and she pokes out her tongue when Quinn kicks her under the table.

"Come and play with me," she says, passing her cards to Annabelle. "You might actually understand the rules.”

“You just make fifteens, mom,” Annabelle says, like it’s obvious. “Grandma showed me already.”

She's related to each of these people, and loves them more than pixie stix, but she doesn't understand them and their ways.

Annabelle pulls out a chair next to Brittany and leans into her side a little, like she’s trying to see the board better. Quinn concentrates on the cards in her hand, looking like she’s fighting a smile, and Brittany just reaches out to loop her arm around Annabelle’s shoulders as she lays out the cards.

…

Every tiny cousin Brittany has is between her and the stairs, struggling into their coats and arguing over who belongs to hats and scarves and gloves.

She's looking around for Annabelle like she’s playing a very blonde game of Where's Waldo?, and she almost misses her until she hears the kid holding the baby say, "it was very nice to meet you, even if you scream a lot." Brittany snickers, and shuffles between all the people to get closer. "You're pretty cute, too, except for how you look like an alien."

"Annabelle," Brittany says, trying not to startle her while she's holding a baby, "that's not very nice."

Annabelle frowns up at her. "But he does, mom. He's got weird skin and giant eyes. Just like an alien."

Brittany peers down at the baby. It's an honest assessment, so she lets it go. "Time to give him back, Ding Dong. We're heading home to grandma's now."

"Okay, mom." Annabelle hands the baby over to Brittany, and he immediately starts screaming again, so she heads down the hall to find her sister. Being an auntie is awesome.

…

“That was exhausting,” Quinn says, once they’re back at Judy’s getting ready for bed. Brittany would agree, but she's too busy fighting a yawn.

"Annabelle did okay, though," she continues. "I should have joined you both in your little time-out."

"You would have been very welcome," Brittany says, crawling across the mattress to kneel in front of Quinn. "I can't believe my sister has a baby."

"It's weird, right?" Quinn says, the words tumbling out like she's been holding them back. "In my head she's still that kid who would spy on us and Santana in your backyard that first summer I was in Lima."

"Annabelle is the same age now that Ashley was then."

Quinn actually slaps at her arm. "She is not."

"She is, though." Brittany laughs, and tugs at Quinn's hand. "Why is math so hard for you?"

Quinn rolls her eyes even as she follows Brittany onto the bed. "Because I'm old. So are you."

She doesn’t feel old. Maybe she should check her half-life the next time she’s testing out her time machine. Just to be sure for now, she pulls Quinn down on top of her, licking at her skin. She doesn't taste like carbon.

"Do I taste old?" Quinn asks, threading her fingers through Brittany's hair, and Brittany grins against her skin.

"Nope," she says, pulling back. "You do taste hot, though." She leans back up to nip at Quinn's neck, and Quinn lets out this tiny shriek that Brittany shushes. "Your mom will hear."

Quinn chuckles at that. "I think she knows we have sex."

"Of course," Brittany says, trailing up to Quinn's mouth for an actual kiss, before adding, "how else would we have Annabelle?"

Quinn looks like she wants to roll her eyes, but Brittany runs her fingers down Quinn's neck, distracting her.  "I wonder how long that excuse will last?" Quinn says, as her eyes flutter shut.

Brittany brings her mouth back to Quinn's skin, gently this time. "Maybe we'll have to start pretending we're trying to make another one."

"Oh god," Quinn laughs abruptly, the sound building until she's shaking, and she falls back onto her side of the bed. "Annabelle would hate that. She's such an only child, can you even imagine?"

"I think she'd be an awesome big sister," Brittany says, because it's true. "What I can't imagine is being pregnant again."

Quinn's laughter peters out into a sigh, and she curls against Brittany's side. "Or never sleeping again."

"Or spending half your life looking for an ugly plush alien that's gone missing again."

They both laugh at that—he might live on Annabelle's bookshelf now, but Banjo was a very important fourth member of their family for a number of years.

“She really loved that alien,” Quinn mumbles, snuggling closer.

“She really loves everyone," Brittany says, reaching to pull the covers over them. "She just likes to keep it a secret.”

 

11\. QUINN

Her phone vibrates when they're just outside the Lima city limits, and she digs it out of her bag as she tells Annabelle—again—to turn her music down. "If I can hear it from here, it's too loud."

"There's no such thing," Brittany and Annabelle both say, and she sees Brittany grin as much as she feels Annabelle roll her eyes.

She rubs her fingers against her temples as she unlocks her phone and finds her inbox, Beth’s name in bold at the top. It's not unexpected—she was the one who contacted Beth first—but it is a shock, because it’s so out of place in her life.

All these years, Beth's only been a few miles away every Christmas, and she wonders if—hopes—they've been as happy as hers have been. She supposes she'll find out soon enough.

…

"Grandma, will you play this game with me?"

Quinn's making some tea, and she smiles as her mom joins Annabelle at the kitchen table without even asking what the game is.

By the time the tea is ready, Annabelle has each of the pieces lined up on the table, and Judy glances at Quinn with amusement in her eyes, her smile well hidden. Annabelle flattens out the piece of paper with the rules on it, bending her head to read them as she glances at each of the game pieces.

“I think children’s games have become more sophisticated since you were young, Quinn,” Judy says, raising her eyebrows as Quinn reaches for one of the plastic figures.

Annabelle’s eye snap up to look at her. “Don’t do that, mom.”

“Annabelle,” Quinn frowns, even as she puts the game piece back.

“But mom, we have to read the rules _first_.”

“Annabelle,” Judy says, "she's only looking at it."

"It's okay, mom," Quinn says, leaning down to kiss Annabelle's hair. "You two have fun playing."

She has absolutely no patience for reading game rules anymore, and she takes her tea into the living room where Brittany's hooking up the Nintendo console they gave Judy for Christmas the year before. Brittany and her mom have been engaged in a fierce competition online for the last year, and Brittany's convinced lag is the reason she keeps losing.

She doesn’t really have any idea what Brittany’s doing, something involving wires and turning it on and off again to check the menu settings, and by the time her cup is empty she can hear her mom and Annabelle laughing at something.

Brittany's head appears from behind the tv, blinking in the direction of the kitchen and then at Quinn, and Quinn just shrugs because she has no idea what’s happening either.

…

Annabelle doesn't like the sweater she's wearing, is the biggest thought in her head.

That, and that she needs her mom.

She thought it would be better if they did this while Judy was at lunch with 'the girls', but she was wrong. If it wasn’t for Brittany she’d be halfway to the Mexican border by now, but she still feels like she's going to throw up.

"Hey," Brittany says, setting the tray of cups down with a clatter and coming over to grasp her hands. "It's going to be fine."

"You've met our daughter, right?" Quinn nods to where Annabelle is sitting in the window, book open on her lap. "Blonde girl who sleeps down the hall, doesn't really like people."

"She likes the right people," Brittany says, bringing Quinn in close until she sinks into Brittany's embrace. "And she'll like Beth, too."

God, Quinn hopes so. Not that it ultimately matters—Annabelle's never met Beth before, and she may not see her again for another 11 years—but it feels like a test, and one that Quinn desperately doesn't want to fail.

There's a knock at the door, right on time, and Brittany just looks at her, stepping back to rub her hands up and down her arms. "Do you want me to get that?"

Part of her does, but she still shakes her head. “That's okay."

Brittany presses a kiss against her mouth, squeezing her hands tightly before letting them go. "Okay."

And then she goes to sit with Annabelle, and Quinn's grateful for the space, but she still wonders if she could make it to the back door before anyone would notice.

…

"Hi," Beth says, the mirror of Quinn's nervousness.

Annabelle stares at her, absently pushing her bangs out of her eyes."You're my not-illogical sister."

Quinn pinches at the skin between her fingers, distracting herself from the impulse to scream and put an end to this. Annabelle _knows_ all the words and their meaning—what Beth is to her and to Quinn and, god, even to Rachel—and the mix-up in her words is her tell.

But they discussed this, all three of them, and Annabelle wants to meet Beth, more than she's afraid to meet her, so Quinn stays back and watches her daughters sit beside each other, hands tucked identically beneath their knees.

"I, um," Beth says, biting her lip. "You mean biological, don't you?"

Annabelle nods. "My mom is your mom but my mom isn’t your mom."

Beth just blinks at that. Quinn wants to explain, because she doesn’t think Beth understands at all, that what Annabelle means is that she’s their mom but Brittany is only Annabelle’s, but that's not how they do things in their family. Annabelle's not wrong just because someone doesn't understand, and Quinn's not going to correct her for it.

“Right,” Beth says after a minute, looking at Quinn nervously.

She steps forward to say something, and both of them reach up to tuck a strand of hair behind their ears—Annabelle’s long and messy, Beth’s shorter but just as blonde—before stopping to look at each other, and Quinn feels her mouth go dry.

They’re not even biologically related so she doesn’t understand how—

Beth lifts her hand again slowly, twirling a finger around a lock of hair and Annabelle copies her, her eyes solemn, tilting her head a little to the side as she watches.  Quinn isn’t sure if Beth copies the movement on purpose or not, but after a second she tilts her head too, before huffing out a self conscious laugh and dropping her hand into her lap.

“We’re like mirrors,” Annabelle says, peering up at Beth like she’s waiting to see what she’ll do next.

“Maybe if your side made you shrink, munchkin,” Beth says, after a moment, with what Quinn is pretty sure is supposed to be affection.

“That’s _rude_.”

Quinn honestly doesn’t know if she’s laughing or crying when they both turn to look at her, and she presses a hand to her mouth to try and stop whatever it is from happening.

…

They’re standing by Beth’s car in the growing darkness, and she wishes there was a book of etiquette for this sort of situation. Maybe there's something in her mother's Emily Post collection that she missed when she was younger.

"I'm really glad you got in contact," Beth says, hands clasped in front of her. "Maybe I wouldn't have been, even a few years ago, but..."

Quinn doesn't say anything to fill the gap, and Beth almost nods to herself and then steps forward, pulling Quinn into a hug.

"I'm glad I did, too," Quinn says, face pressed against Beth's hair. "Maybe we could do this again next year?"

They both loosen their hold on each other, stepping back, and Beth nods. "I'd like that," Beth says, before her face pulls into a grin. "Maybe next time Annabelle will even let me win a round of cards."

Quinn smothers a burst of amusement at that, knowing there was no chance that would happen. "Probably not," she says, because there's no point pretending, and Beth laughs.

They're both silent for a moment after their laughter dies down, and Beth pauses after she’s pulled her car door open. "She's a great kid, Quinn."

Her name sounds awkward on Beth's tongue, but Quinn can tell she's trying her hardest to make this as comfortable for them both as she can. She may be twenty-two, but that doesn't stop Quinn from replying, "you're a pretty great kid, yourself."

…

The rhythmic thudding from Brittany and Annabelle's feet as they play some game on Judy's Nintendo is lulling her to sleep on the couch. Brittany's winning, but Annabelle isn't giving up, and Quinn thinks she might win by letting Brittany tire herself out.

Her head's nodding towards her chest when her mom settles onto the couch beside her, and she jerks back awake, blinking at Annabelle frowning as the screen tells them their scores for the last round.

“Maybe next time, Ding Dong.” Brittany grins, but Annabelle just hits continue, tapping her feet as she waits for the game to load again.

“Maybe _this_ time, mom,” Annabelle says, jumping onto the mat as the game begins.

Quinn laughs, and glances at her mom when she joins in too, until Judy pats her on the knee.

"She's so much like you were at that age," Judy says, and Quinn feels herself freeze, recalling everything that came after that age for her, until Judy continues, seemingly unaware of what her words are doing to Quinn. "But she's got a secret streak of fun that's all from Brittany.”

As if on cue, Annabelle laughs when Brittany’s character passes her on the screen and starts moving her feet faster. Quinn can feel her face start to pull into a smile, even though she doesn’t want it to.

“It's just a shame you had to learn it the hard way."

Judy reaches to give Quinn’s hand a squeeze, and the only thing Quinn can think to say, as she watches her wife and her daughter shout and stamp their feet, is “It wasn’t a shame, mom.”

...

"Britt," she calls, knowing Brittany's nearby getting the presents out for them to wrap. She thinks she should be nervous, but for the first time in almost a year she finally isn't.

Brittany appears behind her in the bathroom mirror. "You rang?"

Her eyebrow quirks until Quinn rolls her eyes, replying as always, "But I don't have a bell."

"Sure you do," Brittany says, coming all the way in to stand behind Quinn, arms snaking around her waist. "She's asleep right now, though."

Quinn sinks back against Brittany's body, eyes closing in contentment for a moment, before fluttering open to meet Brittany's in the mirror again. But it's not close enough, and she turns in Brittany's arms to see her properly.

"Let's do it," is all she says, and Brittany actually bounces on her feet before kissing Quinn giddily.

 

12\. + .

"Mom," she calls, but neither of her moms turn around. Probably because she doesn't know which one she wants, so how could they. Annabelle doesn't know how they can tell, but it's cool that they can.

She taps her feet for a moment, before deciding she probably wants them both. "Mom and mom!" They both turn to look over the back of the couch. "Who's going to cook the pancakes now that—"

It's supposed to be a secret, and she glances at her grandma. Did she count as family, when her mom said "just for now, we'll keep this a family secret"?

“I got it, Ding Dong.” That’s not her name, and she doesn’t want to answer when her mom comes over to peer into the bowl. “Did you finish with the batter?”

“Yes,” she says, giving it another stir to make sure. "Do you know how to do this? 'Cause mom usually does this." She glances over at where her mom is sitting, hoping she’ll give her some sign of approval.

“Don’t worry, your mom taught me everything she knows.”

"Do you think," she says, keeping her voice as quiet as she can, "the baby likes pancakes?"

Her mom pulls her into a hug, which she's been doing heaps lately, and kisses her head—she wants to wipe it off, but that's kind of rude—"We'll find out soon enough." 

“But,” she says, hesitating. She's not even sure if this is possible or not. “If the baby doesn’t like pancakes, mom won’t get sick or anything, will she?”

Her mom pauses just as she’s about to drop the first spoonful of batter into the pan. “She might. But you know what to do now. You've been so good at taking care of her when I can't do it."

Annabelle shrugs at that—what else is she supposed to do when her mom's sick?

"If she is, will grandma know?"

Her mom looks over at her mom and grandma, and her smile wobbles a little. She probably thinks she didn’t notice, but her mom can’t hide anything from her. “Yeah.” She drops some more batter into the pan. “Grandma will help too.”

...

Her grandma cries like a crazy person.

Why do babies make everyone cry so much?

"I knew it," her grandma says, holding onto her mom really tight. "It was just like when..."

"Mom," her mom says, pulling out of the hug. "It's nothing like that. We weren't hiding it from you, I swear. We just wanted to make sure everything—You know."

Her grandma nods. "Oh, Quinnie—" her mom hates that name "—this is the best Christmas present I think I've ever received."

And then her mom is crying as well, and she looks up at her mom. "What is with them?"

"They're just happy, Ding Dong," her mom says, and ugh, she's crying, too.

She hopes it's not like this forever, now.

…

They do all the presents in the living room this year because according to her mom the bed is too small for the five of them.

"He isn't even _born_ yet, and he's already a pain in the butt," she says, pushing the couch around so her mom can sit on it while she and her mom hand out everyone's presents.

She gets some pretty good things this year, but her pile of underwear seems to be getting bigger as she gets older. By the time she's in high school, she's going to have a whole suitcase of socks to take home.

"Ding Dong, what's that last one?" Her mom points at a present way at the back behind the tree, and, oh yeah, she'd almost forgotten about that.

“I don’t know, it must be from Santa.” She crawls under the tree before her mom can grab it, tucking it under her chin while she shuffles back out.

"Oh no," she whispers when she looks down at the present. She forgot to put the name tag on it. Oh well, she'll just have to wing it. "It's for the baby."

Her mom looks surprised when she brings it over to the couch. "Who's it from, Annabelle?"

" _Santa_ ," she sighs. Why don't they believe _her_ when she says it?

"Of course it is," her mom says, sitting down beside her mom. "Is it okay if we open it for the baby?"

"I guess," she says, giving a little shrug. "I don't know what Santa's rules are."

"I think he'd be okay with it," her grandma says, and for some reason that makes her moms smile at each other.

Her mom glances at her just once before she rips the paper off, and her mouth drops open when Banjo falls out into her lap. "Belle...."

“Oh, that’s where he went,” Annabelle says, watching her mom press a hand to her mouth. "Santa must have stolen him."

This makes her mom laugh, even though she's crying again—seriously, is this ever going to stop?—and her mom pulls her onto the couch, half on her lap and half against her mom's side.

"Tell Santa the baby said thank you, Belle."

This is gross, but she can't get up without maybe hurting her mom, so she just stays there while her mom does Banjo's voice, so the baby knows who he is.

…

Sometimes, her moms are just _weird_. Like more than normal.

The baby's not even big enough to see that he's there, but her mom's got her cheek pressed against her mom's stomach, talking to him like he can hear.

"Come on, little guy," she says, spreading her hands out across the surface her face isn't covering.

"Brittany, you won't be able to feel it," her mom says, laughing when the hands on her belly tickle a little. "Stop it."

"I'm just trying to make him wake up," her mom pouts. "I didn't realize how unfair it is that you get to feel him before I do."

Her mom gives her mom this super sappy look, and says, "Keep trying, Britt."

"Baby," her mom says, "you seriously need to wake up now."

Her mom's telling the baby a story—Annabelle's just resting, she's not listening—when her mom interrupts. "I have an idea. Annabelle," her mom nudges her with the arm Annabelle's using as a pillow, "go get the book in my suitcase."

She’s comfy but her mom’s going to keep moving her arm if she doesn’t get it, so she sighs as she slides off the bed. “Yes, mom.”

It’s the only thing in the case—her mom makes them all unpack, even though Annabelle doesn't see the point since they're just going to pack up again in a few days—and she squints at the words on the cover.

“You’re going to pick a name for the baby?” she says, once she’s flopped back down next to them and her mom’s arm is around her again.

"Quinn," her mom says, the same sappy face her mom had before, "It's way too early for that."

Her mom flips the book open with one hand, trying to open it to the start, and Annabelle presses the pages open so her mom can see the whole page with lots and lots of names on it. "If I can feel him, he can tell us."

"How can he _tell_ you?" She asks. Her moms are weird, but they're not dumb.

"The same way you did, Ding Dong.”

She doesn’t remember that. She would have picked another name if she knew her mom was going to call her Ding Dong for the rest of her life.

"Seriously? What if he moves for like every name?"

"Yes," her mom says, poking Annabelle in the arm. "He's not silly, Belle."

She doesn't _say_ that she thinks her moms are silly, but she thinks it anyway when her mom starts reading the list of names in the book. "Aaron. Abba."

"Oh," her mom says, "that's a good one."

She feels her mom go still next to her, and then say, "Nothing. Sorry, Britt."

"Oh well," her mom sighs, "you're missing out, baby."

Her mom winks at Annabelle with a grin before she continues reading the names.

"Abbott. Abe. Abner."

This is so boring, she probably just kicked them on ‘Annabelle’ to get them to stop.

“Ace. Acton. Adam—whoa.” Her mom blinks in surprise and puts a hand to her stomach, and then grabs her mom's hand and shifts it over a bit.

“Adam,” she says again, and then starts to laugh.

"Hi Adam," her mom says, because apparently that's it. "Merry christmas."

She told you her moms were weird. But they're still her moms and she guesses weird's okay.

 


End file.
